Hurt
by Claire Darcy
Summary: It hurts them every time, but somehow they can't stay away.


_Hey everyone. Sorry to those of you desperately wait for an update on Chipped, but I figure that if it's actually painful to think about writing, then maybe I should wait. Anyway, this is kind of an expansion I did on my drabble titled _Rejection_. I'm not really sure how this turned out, so please let me know your thoughts!

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"I hadn't realized you were seeing anyone."

Wilson shifted uncomfortably in the expensive leather armchair. It was brand-new; House had helped him pick it out earlier that week.

"So this," House made a quick gesture between the two of them, "was…what? A hobby?" Wilson flinched.

"You know that's not what it was, Greg," he said quietly, suddenly very interested in the toes of his shoes. "You also know that I –" He glanced up, meeting House's crystalline stare. "You know I'd never be respected as a doctor unless I had the perfect…" He hesitated. "…wife."

House took this as his lover's resignation. It had been three months since Wilson had shown up at his door, obviously drunk and definitely sure of what he wanted. He'd said that he was tired of fighting it, right before he shoved House against the wall, greedily attacking his mouth. That wasn't the first time they'd ever had sex, but it was definitely the first time that at least one of them would be able to remember in the morning. Now Wilson, the man he thought he maybe loved, was getting married. He hadn't actually thought that this would ever be a threat. Wilson had admitted to have been with only one woman in his life, and that relationship hadn't ended on happy terms. He'd been happy with a _man_, so why was he willingly going to put himself back on the other side?

House didn't reply to Wilson's reasoning. Thinking about it only made him hurt in ways that he would _never_ admit to. So instead, he did the only thing he knew would block out any thoughts. He got to his feet and lead Wilson to the bedroom. House had been far from gentle that night. He forgot to care if he was being too rough, if he was bruising his lover. But, of course, this man was no longer his lover. If they ever saw each other again, it would only be in passing in the very public hallways of the hospital. This was his time to mark Wilson –_Jimmy _– so that he knew exactly what it was he was giving up.

When House left that night, Wilson had been close to tears as he whispered 'I love you,' and he was sure that was the last time he would ever mean it.

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The first marriage had hardly lasted a week, in House's opinion, but it was two years before Wilson was at his door again. He knew that what he was doing was wrong, that asking House to help him – to _save_ him – was wrong. The drive from the apartment he and his wife shared to House's townhouse seemed to take hours as the vows he'd taken at his wedding played themselves in his head. He had sworn to her that he'd be faithful. This was _wrong_.

House hadn't been surprised when Wilson quietly informed him two weeks later that _she_ had kicked him out. Of course Wilson would tell her; his conscience wouldn't allow him otherwise. It took about three hours to find themselves sprawled in House's bed, sticky and perfectly sated. House knew they were just repeating history, but he'd never remembered history feeling so good.

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House was never one to look too far into ominous situations. Though he later reflected that the dark thunderclouds that had rolled in should have given him some warning when Wilson still hadn't shown up. Two in the morning, and he was being rudely tossed from sleep as Wilson urgently shook his shoulder. One glance into those rich brown eyes, and he knew he'd lost his lover again. Wilson wrapped his arms tightly around House, almost afraid to let him go. They didn't have sex that night, both of them knowing how much it would hurt afterwards.

Wilson knelt on the floor between House's knees, trying his best to hold back the tears that were already stinging his eyes. It hit him then that these were the only times he ever cried in front of House – the only times he was ever weak in front of him was when House was weak too.

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Five years. Five years of an emptiness that even Stacy wasn't able to fill. One year of pain and hate. Wilson had watched House suffering, and it killed him to know that it was because of the two people had trusted, had _loved_. Still, he was at House's door again, trembling despite himself. His second marriage had come to a screeching halt forty minutes before, under such circumstances he would never find himself repeating to House.

House hadn't let him in that night, or the next, and Wilson knew that it was because he was trying to control the situation. One Sunday morning, though, Wilson tried again, and House greeted him with a heart-wrenching kiss that he'd almost forgotten. This was it. They would live together and be happy and he just wouldn't _care_ what people thought about him.

That lasted him six months. It was actually a lot longer than House had been expecting, but he was barely surprised when Wilson never came home.

It was late July when Wilson came into his office, hands clenching inside his pockets, standing on the other side of House's desk. House kept his face blank, curious as to what he had to say this time.

"I, uh…" He cleared his throat, dragging a hand across the back of his neck. "I want you to be my best man."

"I can't do that."

"Why?"

"You know why."

Wilson did know. But he refused to think about it, because that brought memories he'd rather do without. He waited until his office door was shut before sliding down against it to the floor, and letting his promised tears fall delicately from his eyes.

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House was sure that whatever they'd had was over. Six years had passed since that day in his office, and not once had Wilson stopped by his place for anything further than beer and football.

At least until that night when House threw open his door, slightly unnerved to find Wilson – his Jimmy – at his door with a suitcase. Wilson noted the brief moment of hesitation before House let him through the door. They both knew what they were bringing upon themselves, and they both knew the hurt that was awaiting them when the perfection slipped away.


End file.
